


The Songs We Write

by deedub



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, English, F/M, Humor, My First Fanfic, Romance, be gentle with me!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedub/pseuds/deedub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss tries to resist the charms of a certain musically gifted blonde boy. Source characters belong to Suzanne Collins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Oh good, it's one of those shows," I mutter to no one in particular, just anybody who might hear my sarcastic remark. The venue is Kilby Court – that's a generous word, venue – and it's a veritable shit box hole in the wall you would expect for a no-name garage band. There's no way this is to fire code with probably close to forty gross scene people jammed inside, and at least twenty more outside by the fire pits. The unwashed masses. I am sure the look on my face is one of abject terror because when my eyes finish sweeping and judging the crowd, Prim has her hands on her hips and her delicate head tilted to the side.

"Don't be shitty. This means a lot to Madge, and you know it."

She's right. This night is important to my dear, talented, albeit slightly deluded childhood friend. I've known Madge was quite the singer for a while, years actually, but I never thought she wanted to be here…

I mean, for Christ's sake, the guy by the door just dripped hummus on his beard. And now he's chewing on the pubic-looking mass to get it out? Ugh. And don't even get me started on the girls working the merch tables. GOD. If you are that desperate for a lay, you should be banned  
from public.

"Fine, I'll be good, but do you know when her set is supposed to start? I need to be home by ten. And at least one someone here reeks, and the longer it takes to get shit going will only allow the funk to garner its strength."

I'm pushing it here, I know. The car ride over was me and Prim, doing this. I say something terrible, she tries to restore my humanity. She sighs, shakes her head and elbows Johanna. Apparently Prim is off the clock as far as dealing with me.

"Shut the fuck up, Katniss."

I roll my eyes.

Later when I finish counting missing ceiling tiles, I pull my phone out. Has it really only been four minutes? Madgie, I love you, but girl, too much is too much. I decide on Mahjong…

The lights dim and Prim grabs my phone out of my death grip, pocketing it in her purse with brows raised, practically asking me to say something snarky and sarcastic. I look at her intently, cross my eyes, and look away to the stage when I hear her start to snicker. Little sisters – so  
easy.

I see Madge and three other people walk out of what must be "backstage" but to me looks like a broom closet. She stands just slightly off center, near the microphone, splitting the stage with a man bent over adjusting cables to the keyboard. No pretenses tonight, I guess. Madge's guitar is conspicuously absent, so tonight must be all about her vocals. She did mention to me a few days ago that this show would be an audition. Apparently the band needed fresh female vocalist blood after a Yoko incident with previous singer and the drummer. Speaking of drummer…

He looks… like a fine male specimen. He's sitting on the drum throne, but my guess would be that he's tall because his legs barely fold up in front of the bass. He is dressed much like everyone else here, flannel and beanie, so original, with dark hair peeking out the front, sides, and back. He briefly catches me inspecting him and raises his brows. My jaw drops open, and I quickly engage in a fake conversation with Jo – pretty sure I asked for a stick of gum. I decide I like looking at Mysterious Drummer, but that tall, dark, and emo isn't really my flavor.

It's because I'm watching him that I notice the little signal he gives to the rest of the group to get the fuck going. Fine with me. The sooner I hear Madge belt her little heart out, the sooner I'm back to studying in my underwear. I actually feel bad for having thought this and remember everything Prim said on the way over, how brave and crazy Madge is for seeking this group out. I resolve in this moment to be a better friend, convincingly supportive, like a freshly cutlet-ed push up bra.

She is visibly shaking, waiting for her cue to the song. The crowd has been cheering, filling this little box with their excitable "woos!". I add my one audible piece to the masses around me and yell out "You're fine as hell, Madge." She hears and looks my way, smiling. Prim and Jo quickly catch her eye, waving and squee-ing appropriately.

There is a light piano sound, and I turn my head to notice for the first time the petite woman with short blonde hair manning the keyboard. Her fingers continue their movement, rather effortless looking actually, and she nods at the blonde man who had been adjusting the cables.  
He straightens and for the first time I notice the guitar slung across his back – somebody's showboating Madge's role, I see. He gently swings it around to the front and begins a soft, complimentary chord to accent the notes of the keyboard. With one quick look and smile to  
Madge, he steps toward the mike and sings. His eyes are closed, which kind of fascinates me. Is he that in the moment here, in this shitty place? Whatever. I go back to Dark Drummer when I hear him chime in.

It's not until the chorus that I hear Madge for the first time, harmonizing with Blonde Guitar.

"Why'd you fill my sorrows

With the words you borrowed

From the only place you've known?

And why'd you sing Hallelujah

If it means nothing to you?

Why'd you sing with me at all?"

Jesus. Sorry Madge, I have supremely underestimated you. In truth she sounds incredible! Really very good, very clear, her voice just rings through the lyrics. Even I in my heart of bitchiness can admit I was wrong to be skeptical. And that guy! He makes her angelic sound even more pure and lovely. I realize it's the context of the entire song, the complete picture of four adults with many different sounds coming together that actually has me in awe.

I'm surprised to find myself clapping at the close of that song and beginning of another. This is so not my scene, this is so not my group of people, not my comfort zone, but dammit, am I proud of that pretty little blonde singing up there in front of this crowd! One quick look around the room tells me I'm not alone in her class of admirers.

Blonde Guitar becomes Blonde Violin, and Madge takes the lead in the vocals of the next song. It sounds happy and bright, and Keyboard and Dark Drummer chime in for parts of the chorus. It's cute, actually, really cute. Madge lets her little sway-in-place dance take over for Violin to  
play a quick solo and leads the crowd in a rhythmic clap. She makes it look so easy…

The set continues like this, one folksy score leading into an indie song. When Blonde Guy changes instruments a third time, carefully packing the violin in its case and reaching behind the keyboard for what I think is a mandolin, I admit I'm impressed. Even I appreciate the skill and talent of an individual who can play three different musical pieces AND sing. Color me inspired.

I start to notice other things about him. The way he wears the shit out of his 511 Levis, the soft glint of scruff on his jaw and neck that catches in the blue light of the stage trees, the measured dexterity of his long fingers. And his eyes. I can see they are the color of the clearest blue, like  
Mediterranean waters, and the focus in them burns through the instrument in his hands. But when he lifts his gaze to his band mates, his eyes melt and smile…

The group finishes one last song, with Madge carrying the final note, and I clap and smile at the success of my sweet friend. Her face searches the crowd in my direction, so I wave with my mouth open and tongue sticking out, making the face that guarantees a Madge-laugh, and I'm not disappointed. She is still smiling when Blonde Music Magician says something to her, smiles, and reaches out with his left arm to wrap her in a half hug. She leans into his grip until he exaggeratedly kisses her cheek, squinching up her face and raising her right shoulder to her chin.

It is the duty of the convincingly supportive friend to linger at this point, so naturally I turn to Prim and Jo to say something snarky about Dark Drummer and his affinity for flannel, when Prim grabs my hand and pulls me back to the stage door Madge and her new musical friends just disappeared through.

Maybe Madge will introduce us…


	2. Chapter 2

With Prim pulling me by my left hand, we navigate through the small crowd and head to the backstage door. We are briefly stopped by an indie girl wearing a fedora over shockingly red hair who indicates that we can't head through unless we get clearance from the band. Prim smiles sweetly saying "We have clearance! We were even comped tickets by our friend." She points to Madge, who is currently being assaulted or admired, it's hard to tell, by the scenester kids working the venue. Fedora hesitates, then declares "If you ladies ARE friends of the performers, I will need you to verify the name of the band to check that your names are on their comp list."

My eyes widen of their own accord. So Fedora is an indie bouncer, hm? What the hell is this place? Madge makes music FOR FUN - do the rest of the people she will now be associating with think they are hot shit because some waiflike, not even old-enough-to-drink chick is manning their security? What a joke. I turn to Prim. "I don't remember what pathetic poem Madge told me their name was. Maybe Jo does."

Prim exhales a heavy breath, and it's this moment that Johanna catches up to us, having heard the entire exchange and looking even more annoyed than myself. "The band is Ashes of Eden," Jo says. "I'm Jo, the blonde is Prim, and this spicy firecracker is Katniss, and all of us are on your fucking list. Now, are you gonna try carding us, blood typing us or some other bullshit identity test, or do you wanna just let us back into that janitor's closet sized room so we can say hi to our friend?"

We are immediately allowed to pass. I love Jo. She should be in everybody's scenester concert survival kit. Her ability to get the bullshitters to back down is second to none.

Prim runs ahead of us, jumping on Madge's back and completely ignoring her admirers. "You, my dear, were amazing! So good! Too good, really. I worry that you've just made all of the boys in there fall completely at your feet!"

I can't help but smile at this because I know it to be true. Madge, and Prim for that matter, even though she is a few years younger than us, is a stunner, just absolutely gorgeous, with thick blonde hair that even Barbies would be envious of, big and bright eyes, and most endearing of all, a duly innocent and charming face. When these two stand next to each other and smile, the male universe could very possibly implode upon itself, that's the kind of effect they have. If all of the guys here weren't already crushing on Madge after seeing her stand shyly onstage in her red cap sleeved sundress and cowboy boots, they certainly are now that they've heard her talent and understood her sweet bashfulness. And Prim. God, I can already see male eyes in male faces looking her up and down. Good thing Johanna steps up to both of them, and with a swift smack to each ass, brings our blonde beauties back to planet earth.

I quickly and most likely awkwardly give Madge a one armed hug, my torso leaning in to her while keeping my feet firmly planted in place. Don't get me wrong, she's one of my best friends obviously, but not even she can get through my bubble. I just don't do affection – she knows this. I pull back and I'm smiling when I say "You really were fantastic, Madge. Honestly I'm kind of sad that I have to share you with these new friends now, though." She rolls her eyes and I hastily add "I guess I can share you since they so clearly need your talent, and I'm so terrible juggling school and work to be much of a friend right now anyways…"

She gives me her deadpan look, directly into my eyes and clear into my thoughts the way she has always been able to do, before saying "Both of those statements are stupid and untrue. We're roommates, for Christ sake, Katniss; stop sounding so wounded because our paths haven't crossed in the last week. You're making me doubt your thick exterior. " She tilts her head forward slightly and fake whispers "Did the music get to you?"

I let out a small, gasp/laughat this. She is smiling when she turns to Jo to accept her hug and wet, sloppy kiss to the temple. The music was okay – it was made even better by her involvement, truly – and thinking back to the show reminds me of Blonde Guitar, and I immediately decide that the music was actually pretty incredible. Where is he? My eyes span the small group and I catch sight of the door off to the left that is open out to the parking strip. For one half of a second I contemplate peeking out there to see if I can get a glimpse of him, but then I remember that I don't really give a fuck (or shouldn't) and turn back to Prim, Jo, and Madge, who is introducing the band members to us.

"Delly is the keyboard," she says, motioning to the petite blonde girl with short hair. Delly timidly waves and smiles to us, with her head slightly ducked down so as not to make eye contact. I use this to base my speculation and judgment of her that she is just as shy as myself. Hm. I may just like this girl. Madge continues. "Gill is percussion, and sometimes…shit, what did you call that one thing?"

My eyes follow her gaze and meet the glaring scrutiny of Dark Drummer, whose real name is Gill, I guess. His face is completely devoid of emotion, and I bet he's hoping Blonde Guitar appears soon because even I can feel there's way too much estrogen in our little circle, and one glance to Prim and Jo tells me how hypnotized by his dark drollness they really are. "Xylophone. But it sounds better in accompaniment to the drums, and I'm the only one to play either so it's still a work in progress." He speaks to no one, really. He is standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze looking across the room at everything and nothing, alternating between looking around and down at his feet that keep shifting his weight back and forth. Someone's a tortured soul.

Madge is still talking about the details of the percussive sound and the different complexities Gill can create when I rudely interrupt, mostly because I don't care about Gill. "There's another one – where did Blonde Guitar go? Are we going to meet him?"

"Blonde Guitar. Katniss, you crack me up." She turns to Delly and Gill and says "She probably had pronouns assigned to you guys too. She means Peeta."

"Wait a sec." This time it's Jo. "Your names are Delly, Gill, and Peeta? And now Madge? Well, if those aren't the perfect fucking indie folk names."

"God, Jo, you're the only one here with a normal name. Deal with it. Does it hurt to finally be an outsider?"

I am smiling at this exchange. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've gotten shit from many people, Jo included, about my name. It wasn't until college that I embraced my uniqueness, and then I saw everybody else embracing their uniqueness, and suddenly that was the trendiest thing to do, thereby making nobody unique at all. Whatever. "So where is Peeta?" I ask. "Did he have to run home to his girlfriend? Hell, his wife, maybe?"

Why did I just say it like that? What is wrong with me? I don't care about him or his gentle way with lyrics and stringed instruments. I should have waited till somebody else asked. Or at least asked if he was in the shitter or something. No, that would have been just as bad! My eyes quickly scan our small group. Nobody has noticed how weird I suddenly became – except for Jo, who is smirking at me like a damn idiot. Shit! I attempt my classic pathetic cover-up, and shrug my shoulders while digging in my bag for my phone before realizing I never got it back from Prim. When I look up, Johanna is still looking at me, less of a smile now but she is shaking her head back and forth.

It's Madge who, thank god, finally breaks my awkwardness. "He said he had to head out early. Something about lesson plans. He packed up his strings and left right after the show, before you guys made it back here, actually. I'm feeling like coffee. Anybody up for Coffee Break?"

Prim and Jo nod their assent, Gill quietly bows out to finish loading his drums in the car, and Delly speaks for the first time all night. "I would love that. Madge has told me a lot about you girls, and I just… It would be nice to talk away from the noise and fire pits and stuff. Let me help Gill and I can meet you guys there. Need a ride, Madge?"

Madge smirks at me. "I know Katniss does. "

I sigh and let my head fall to the side before demanding my phone back from Prim. This is everyone's joke. So I don't have a car? So what? Driving is a bitch anyways, especially living in the city when the train is steps from my door. Well, more like half a mile from my door, but still. It's not a big deal, especially when the university fees include a train pass, and it's no secret that I'm not the best behind a wheel…

"Actually, Madge, I've gotta head home. Research and DVR'd episode of 'Torchwood' await. It was nice to meet you," I say as I extend my hand to Delly, wrench my phone out of Prim's hand waving to and fro, and turn to exit out the side door.

I pass Fedora on my way out, give her a bratty wink, and I'm on my way to the train station around the corner. I am actually relieved to have this time to myself. Some of my greatest ideas for choreography come to me when I'm alone on the train at night. I don't allow myself to think about dance nearly as much as I try to focus on my other studies, largely because I'm a cynic and I know I'll never get a real job or make any kind of income dancing. Not that social work pays incredible either… God. I stop walking, shake my head, take a deep breath and pick up my pace again. I always do this, thinking so negatively about myself and my choices. The truth of the matter is that I'm studying what I want to study – career path be damned. And hey, look at Madge. She is finally getting the opportunity to perform like she has wanted for years now. Maybe there's hope for me after all…

My thoughts slowly trickle to Peeta as I see the train lights approach in the distance. I can barely believe one person can be talented like that – he was basically the entire band. You could tell he held everything together, not to mention was amazing at every instrument, and he made Madge feel comfortable and confident onstage. He very clearly led the group, but still allowed her talent to shine – even when he sang, it was to harmonize with her. God, the way he could be a part of one song, then switch instruments and vocals to contribute to another… And Madge said something about lesson plans? Interesting…

I convince myself that my admiration of his talent is actually where this fascination with Peeta is stemming from. I board the train, pop my ear buds in, close my eyes and wait for inspiration to find me.

"Kat. Kat! Hello? Are you okay?"

I am instantly awake and sit up so fast I see spots in my eyes from the fluorescent lighting. Did I really just nod off in the research lab? I sigh, wipe the spit off my left cheek and attempt to rub out the book crease on my face from laying on it for the last… shit, the clock says nine. Nine PM. I was asleep for over an hour. "Hey Annie, yeah, I'm okay. There was nobody in here and I guess I just kinda… yeah. Sorry. I will totally lock up for you, if that would help."

Annie gives me a soft smile and shakes her head, handing me my stack of books and directing me to the door. I walk out of the room and down the hall out to campus feeling like a complete dick. That girl is too nice. I literally do nothing at the lab except assist the occasional wandering student and basically get paid minimum wage to surf the internet and do my own homework. But Annie, she takes the task so seriously – it's a good thing, really, that she wants to work in education. She has the patience to deal with lazy assed people like me, the kind of people that need guidance from someone like her. I decide to bring her an earl grey tomorrow when we work the lab together again.

I push the double doors of the behavioral science building open with grandeur – my favorite thing to do when the campus is dark and most everybody has left for the day – one palm on each door, and gracefully practice my pas de bourree down the stairs of the old historic building. I would never do this in the daytime, with witnesses for miles around, but performing small dance steps in public under the cover of night is one of my many secrets. I reach the bottom of the stairs, dancing to the sidewalk, and continue my petite balletic display until I suddenly feel brave and reckless, tossing my books and tote to the side. I begin reviewing the new piece taught today in technique class, and its going well and I'm feeling uninhibited and light, until I hear the screech of thin metal tires and the inordinately loud yell of "Fuck!"

Busted. I have just been caught being artistic. And… weird. I need to not be so weird.

Embarrassed, I pull my phone out of my bag, whether to call for help or the campus police I don't know yet, and run over to what I discover to be a tall man who is now a heap of limbs and fixie bike. He straightens the beanie over his hair and raises his head to meet my gaze. "Katniss? What… what were you doing?"

The caption to this scene of my life reads:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uck.

It's Gill. From the band, Madge's Gill. No, not Madge's Gill, just Gill, who plays music with Madge. Did I say something to him yet?

"I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

He gruffly sighs and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans before placing one hand on the ground to use as leverage to stand. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you? I thought for a sec that some girl was seizing or something."

Asshole. "No, I… I dance. I'm a dance major – I do that. It's weird, I know. Did I really make you crash? Because you thought I was having a fucking seizure? Jesus. It's a good thing I don't have all my eggs in one basket as far as that career path is headed."

He laughs shortly while bending over to right his bicycle, and when he looks at me again he is smiling. Whoa. He looks completely different, like somebody not near as… intense… as he was last week at the show. "That came out wrong. I saw you and didn't expect to run into anybody at this corner of campus this late, really, and… this bike. It's actually a complete piece of shit." He nudges the front tire, frame slightly bent, and runs his thumb over the handle bars checking for cracks in the brakes. "Where are you headed? I'll walk with you, if that's okay, since I shouldn't ride at night without my bike headlight anyway."

We start walking towards the train, and one quick glance at my phone shows 9:24 – I just missed it. The next train isn't for thirty minutes, so I should try my best not to say something awkward. It would be nice to have the company while I wait.

"Uh, so… flannel again, huh?"

Unnnnngggggghhhhh. I squinch my eyes shut tight and give my head little fast shakes from side to side. When I open my eyes and chance a look at Gill, I just miss an eye roll and shrug. "Sorry. It's kind of my default setting to be a sarcastic bitch. I just, um… ". I sigh, stop walking, and reach out for the handlebar of his bike, stopping him too. "I'm not good… with people. I couldn't give a flying fuck what you wear – Shit! See! (He laughs) This is what I mean! Default to … tragically, hopelessly honest."

"It's fine, Katniss, really. I'm the angsty artist here anyways. I've completely come to terms with the fact I will be misunderstood in pretty much every way. Well, I guess what you were doing could make you artistic too…". Hm. I detect a bit of sarcasm in Dark Drummer as well. His lips curl up into a crooked smile, one he is obviously trying to fight, and we start walking again. Maybe he's not so bad, after all. A sarcastic human is generally my choice of human.

"So, did you have a night class or something? Actually, I didn't know there were classes held in the SS commons this late." I look to him from the corner of my eye – he might be limping, just slightly. He reaches up with one large hand and tugs the dark blue beanie back into place. His hair is probably a complete greasy mess, and yes, by god, he is wearing flannel again. It is August. August! My inner monologue could continue for days but I catch him speaking again.

"No classes for me. Actually I was meeting with Jack, uh, I forget his last name. Tall and thin, plays a killer set, I think they might be custom D-Drums, but he's the -"

"Jack Terrance? The musical director for the dance department? But, why?"

He is outright smiling now, not a little halfway lip corner thing. I feel like I already know what he's about to say. "Jack wants to be semi-retired, and uh, you probably already knew that. But he needed a little help getting someone to fill in as drummer for the 9:30 morning class last minute. I, uh, I met him at the concert hall to sort of 'audition', I guess. Peeta was actually the one to put in a good word."

Whaaa? "So, somehow, because Peeta 'put in a good word', you are now the musician for my technique class? We have to see each other every day?"

He scoffs, and it gradually turns into that genuine smile again. I realize I'm smiling now, too. I guess I'm happy for a fellow struggling artist who found a gateway gig. Wait… "What did Peeta have to do with this? I know he's not a musician for the department." Because I would have remembered that, probably from day one of freshman semester. Ugh, and then I would think about him and his stupid talents even more for seeing him daily. His stupid hands playing stupid chords. I wonder if he sits when he practices the violin… Oh, Peeta playing the violin on ballet days! The image in my head is almost enough to completely overtake my judgment and start hounding Gill for information about him…

But lucky for me, he opens his mouth and volunteers. "Peeta teaches a GE music class at the university. I guess he and Jack are on pretty close terms – Jack was heading Peeta's committee for his master's before, well, before. But yeah."

This day, I tell you. My mind doesn't have the capacity to comprehend everything that has happened in the last twenty minutes of my life. So I will be seeing much more of Gill than I ever thought necessary – I wonder if he will try to be my friend in class or if he will be back to being too cool. And Peeta. That's a fucking enticing enigma right there… Talented musician, better than decent friend, to help Gill with the job, and teacher. Oh, Madge did mention something teacher-ish about him after the show. Lesson plans, was it? Hm. Honestly, I'm not at all surprised. He is golden. Perfect. Flawless. Too good to be true.

Well, fuck.

By this time, the trains approach, Gill boards one line and I board the other, saluting him a goodnight. I immediately decide before plugging my earbuds in to pack a lip gloss in my dance bag, the one I take to technique every day. Oh and I'm going to have to be more diligent about checking for panty lines since I just might be dancing for an audience…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Hi everybody. To tell you "thanks for reading" doesn't really cut it. I was completely anticipating crickets after posting the prologue to this story (my first fanfic ever), but did it mostly on a moment of impulse, and I'm so so happy that people are even semi interested/reading/reviewing/following. I can hardly believe this story gets the traffic it does, so THANK YOU I LOVE YOU to anyone who is reading. I hope you are happy with where I take you from here.
> 
> My Katniss is a modern dancer, and below is a link to a beautiful piece that was choreographed by a colleague of mine from years past. People were always asking me to describe modern dance and it is too hard to do it justice in words, so if you are curious to see how I see her moving, check out the link. Its actually really lovely. Of course I do not own anything about the video link and HG characters are not mine.
> 
> watch?v=OBk3ynRbtsw

A very uneventful three weeks pass, and aside from seeing Gill almost daily, absolutely nothing changes. I either pass him in the halls of the Marriott Dance Center or see him setting up his drum set as I walk onto the marley covered floors of Studio A. If I look just right into the mirrored walls, usually feigning barre exercises or stretches, I can almost catch a glimpse of something like intensity or excitement on his face. He very clearly loves music – like how I love dance. Its when I see this kind of concentration in his dark eyes, the way his hands stretch and strain holding the sticks and brushes, that I unintentionally think back to another set of hands, the way those other hands could move, all length and so purposeful, the sounds they could create…

And then I find myself having missed an entire eight count of choreography from my instructor.

My afternoons are split between classes in the behavioral science building and working the dreary research lab there, most days with Annie. I try desperately to stay focused on the current developmental theory being lectured or the values and principles of our justice system, only to find my mind wandering back to other, more alluring images. Golden locks of hair under stage lighting, just the barest hint of scruff glinting at the right angles. I wish I had felt it – I bet if I ran my fingers along his jaw it would feel soft and rough and lovely all at once. And then my fingers might dip under the collar of his shirt in the back, or find their wandering way down to the belt loops on the front of his jeans…

"So do I have this bib in the right format? Katniss?"

Hm? Oh, bibliography, this freshie is asking me for assistance. "Uh yeah, actually it does look okay. Just double check your margins – Frost is a bitch about stuff like that on his papers."

Off you go, little five foot freshman. Momma has to get back to her fantasies…

Annie and I do a security check of the lab and surrounding classrooms promptly at nine. After locking up, she asks if I want a ride, to which I always decline, unless mountains of snow are accumulating, which in September is not yet the case, and we walk together out to her car parked in the grad lot. I continue my trek to the train alone, climb the stairs to the apartment I share with Madge, kick off my shoes with my pants immediately to follow, watch junk food TV while water boils for tea, and wait for sleep to find me. And so it goes day after day…

Today is Friday, thank god, and Madge has excitedly reminded me (for the 90th fucking time) that tonight is her second show with "Ashes".

"Aaaaannnndd! I know it's a cover show only, but Peeta is letting me, ME, run the guitar tonight! I could die, Kat, he is just so good and what if I mess it up or something goes wrong or-"

"That's not going to happen and you know it." This is probably the fourth time I have had to reaffirm her about tonight. Truthfully I don't exactly mind it because she tends to drop little snippets about him while talking, like the fact that Peeta Mellark is single, loves animals and books, and either texts or calls his dad everyday. I have no problem admitting in my head an obsession when I feel it. Now aloud, that's another story. "Madge, you've been working with him for weeks now. If he's confident you can do it, what else could you ask for?"

"This is why I love you and live with you and tolerate your abject bitchiness. Kat, you are my voice of reason," she says to me, grabbing my mug out of my hand and chugging the last of my peach tea.

"Bitch," I say, when she finally hands it back, completely empty.

She laughs and haphazardly pulls her blonde locks out from under the scarf she has gracefully tied around her neck. "So be at the venue like… eight-ish?"

"I will be there, with Jo, and I will be happy for you and cheer and clap like you asked." And to stare the shit out of one particularly delicious jean-clad ass. "You better go – its already after eight. I'm right behind you, anyways."

With that she's out the door.

A few moments later, I head over to the dance building even though I've got about an hour before class. There's been this song, this one song, that just won't get out of my head until I dance to it, I can tell. So I guess I seek some kind of catharsis… or impetus for movement, or whatever. And wow, I really sound like … not myself. Sure, I love art and being creative, and find it challenging and fun, but I pride myself on being realistic and mature. Dance, for all that I love it, will never be my everyday calling. I will dance my frantic energy out to this song, and immediately return to real life and real expectations. The expectations I have set for myself.

I pass Abby, my advisor, in the halls of Marriott Dance and quickly get approval to use the faculty studio so as not to be interrupted. She smiles before nodding and pats my shoulder just once, a kind of lingering, motherly gesture. If I could be like anybody, I would pick Abby. She is pleasantly quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn't make people uncomfortable but instead feel welcomed into her solitude. She is lovely and encouraging, and right now teases me gently about "not being shy", that I should dance for all the world to see. Oh Abby. What a wonderful idea for someone who isn't Katniss Everdeen.

I exhale as soon as I hear the click of the door nesting in its bolt. The faculty studio is small, but has an incredible view of the mountains on the bench. I turn on half of the lights, don't need anything too bright or imposing right now, drop my tote and gingerly start circling my head from shoulder to shoulder. Remembering my IPod, I bend over, with torso completely straight and right leg extended into the air – I am a pendulum. The motion starts my blood moving and it is time to get this song playing and out of my head.

I plug my music into the auxiliary outlet to the ridiculously amazing sound system – major music envy there – and barely notice out of the corner of my eye the large bass drum in the corner, next to the door to the faculty dressing room. No one is expected in here for at least thirty minutes, Abby confirmed it herself. So I shrug my shoulders, assume the bass to be Jack's as he is gradually losing his equipment all over the building, and turn the volume up up up.

The sweet sound of the piano keys start playing and I am free.

You're in the mood for love

You're in the mood to dance

You're in the mood for a little romance

You're in the mood for love

At first, my movements are slow and tentative, but as the song builds I find myself wanting to move, like really move. I normally shy away from songs like this, songs that are carefree and light, but today I want to eat up this entire space. So I do. I am leaping and extending and twirling and leaning. And I feel wonderful.

I'm all dressed up tonight

I've waited all night long

When will they finally play your song?

I'm in the mood to dance.

I am so caught up in my own experience and this moment, that when I see the form of another person holding the dressing room door open and watching me, my heart drops to my gut. My feet are suddenly glued in place. The song is still blaring in the background when I timidly turn my head, held slightly at an angle. I am looking up at this person through my bangs that desperately need a trim, and my mouth falls open and my eyes are as wide as they can go. I knew my heart was no longer beating in my chest, but when I recognize who has been watching, it completely dissolves beneath me and evaporates into nothing.

Because standing in the doorway is Peeta Mellark.

Omigod, what did he see and how long was he standing there? WHY IS HE HERE? We are just looking at each other, while Ingrid fucking Michaelson blares through the speakers. I push my bangs and the rest of my messy chestnut hair out of my face with my palms. His mouth opens slightly, like he is about to say something, and I gracelessly trip over my own feet as I run to the stereo to halt my music. After violently hitting the pause button, I carefully turn halfway around to see him with his back to me, bent over what I thought was Jack's bass drum and kick. Well, guess its not Jack's afterall… It must be Gill's. And those jeans! The back pockets frame his ass just so, and I can see little whiskers where the indigo has faded over time and its like they're underlining and underscoring all that is magnificent about his backside. I don't realize he is straightening until the carabiner hung by a belt loop in the back catches the glint of the lights, and I hurriedly shake my hair out of my face, trying my best to acquire my apathetic look.

He turns to me, drum in his arms, one eyebrow slightly arched, and what I think might be the sexiest haughty look I have ever seen. "Sorry," he says, and those fucking lips, the lips that slay me, the lips that beautiful lyrics sail from, curve up into the sweetest smile. Its crooked, with more than one dimple on his right side, just under his mouth but not quite his chin. I can't help but reciprocate with a smile of my own, sure that it isn't as endearing and bashful as his.

"Gill left these because he's an idiot, and uh… I forgot to pick them up until just now. So, again, sorry – I didn't think anyone would be in here for at least an hour, but you can… commence now, I guess. I'm… getting out of your way."

He backs into the faculty dressing room, pushing against the door with the weight of his body since his hands are holding the drum. Its when the door swings shut that I realize he left the kick. I debate whether or not I should help him, or if I'm too embarrassed to do anything but shut off the lights and head out of the studio. With a sigh, I run to the opposite side of the room to pick it up and go searching for him through the dressing area. I catch up to him just as he reaches the elevator, juggling the bass in one arm for a split second, just long enough to hit the button indicating "Lobby".

I am embarrassed to have been caught freely moving, but can acknowledge that he might need a hand here, so as the elevators dings and the doors slide open I announce myself. "Hey, you left this. And it looks like you could use some help getting this stuff out to your car."

When he looks at me, he is smiling again, nodding that yes, he would appreciate some help. The ten seconds it takes for the ride to reach its destination are achingly quiet – but I will certainly not be the one to break this silence, mostly because I don't know what the hell I would say and because of the way his biceps and broad shoulders strain against the thin white cotton of his v-neck tee have left my mouth dry. The doors open and he turns just his head to me and nods slightly to the left, that his car is up ahead. "So you're Madge's friend."

It's a statement, not a question – does he remember me from that first show, what, almost a month ago? "Uh, yes. I'm Katniss, I live with Madge." Did she say something to him about me? I am so texting her the second I finish here. But he is talking again.

"My keys are on my belt loop – a little help? Gill will flay me if I put this on the grass."

So he wants me to unclip the carabiner not two inches from his private Peeta place? Oh Jesus. I am dying. "Sure, just… don't… um, hang on." I somehow manage to get the clip in my hand while still holding the kick in the other. I'm almost an idiot and try to hand them over to him, only to realize he needs me to open the car for him. "So, the trunk or backseat?"

"Definitely the backseat," he flashes that stupid crooked smile at me again, but I'm ready for it so I narrow my eyes before answering his smirk with my own. I hit the button to unlock his Subaru – of course he would drive a fucking Subaru, scenester Peeta – and walk around him to open the backseat passenger side door.

He gets the drum settled securely in place before straightening and reaching for the kick in my hands. I offer it to him and he closes the open car door with his other hand, stepping closer to me as he does so. "Will you be at the show tonight, Madge's friend Katniss?"

With my hands empty I suddenly feel even more awkward. I fold my arms around myself and glance down at my feet. I ran out of the dance building without putting shoes on – again. He must think I'm so… weird. "Well, I think you should come. I saw you perform today so I owe you one song at least."

God, he is smiling again.

"I will be there. For Madge," I add, just in case he's getting any kind of clever ideas. Ideas I wouldn't be totally opposed to, but just in general stay away from…

"Good." And with that he flashes one more dimpled smile my way, but I turn and wave him off before he can say or do anything else charming and head back inside.

I had already decided when Jo and I parked her car and walked into the venue that I didn't want to talk to Peeta. Or stare at him, or admire him, or anything to do with him, really. So I keep pissing myself off that I adjust my hair or the hemline of my shorts anytime I walk past a reflective surface. Get it together. I will watch the set, rather apathetically, chat with Jo, play on my phone if I need a distraction, squee with Madge when she is done, and quickly head home pretending the run-in with Peeta never happened.

Because to him, it was probably nothing. He just caught some awkward girl being awkward. End of story.

When we get to the door, its to my great relief that Fedora is not working tonight. Jo smacks her hand on the small end cap, tells/yells the guys running it that we're "with the band", and pushes me forward. I can already tell that I like the set up better this time around for one reason : not a single merch girl in sight. Probably helps that tonight is all iconic cover songs … Little emo bitches wouldn't even know most of the songs anyways.

Jo finds us a small space to stand between two groups of girls just right of center stage. I ask about her classes and if she's heard back on her grad school application yet, mostly to have somewhere to look once I notice Madge's band has come on stage to set up their instruments. I am kind of listening, but she can tell something is up – Jo does this thing, this sticking-her-chin-out thing that means "wtf?" generally. I close my eyes and sigh before saying "I'm distracted."

"No shit. By what? Or whom, is probably more accurate." I roll my eyes and make as if to turn away from her, but Jo grabs my chin and forces me to look her in the eyes. "Did that guy follow you home again?"

"What?! Jesus, that was like two years ago and I had just moved to the city. Shut up."

She obviously can't if her raucous belly laughter is any indication. God, everyone needs a friend like Jo because she sure as shit will keep you humble. I wait until she has chilled a bit and when she looks at me again I tell her that its nothing. Yeah, that's not going to work with her…

"Katniss, you are one angsty girl on a good day, but something is up. Just… just out with it."

I sigh, look down at my feet, and I notice I'm jiggling my left ankle. That's my stress trigger meter thing – also its now that I realize I'm also biting my lip, in true angsty girl fashion.

"Its that guy, Peeta, the blonde guy," motioning to the stage with two jerky nods.

She immediately turns to start appraising him – the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen. "Jo." Nothing, she continues her visual assault. "JO!" This time I have her attention. "Just… don't,okay? I feel weird enough about this already. And there's nothing going on and nothing will happen. He just –"

"Makes you wanna take your pants off? Because I'm getting that."

Thank god that the lights dim right after she says this and Madge steps forward to the mic doing the usual garage band welcome-and-thanks-for-coming. She also rounds up a rowdy cheer from the crowd for the opening bands – huh, I didn't realize Ashes was headlining – before motioning for Delly to start in on the piano.

I am purposely looking everywhere but at him. If I'm lucky I can make it through this entire set without glancing his way. Instead I focus on Madge, pretty Madge, singing and swaying in her cowboy boots again – maybe that will be her thing. Its pretty damn cute, actually. And Delly. She looks nice too, happy, fingers flying along the keys. Every once in a while she gets really caught up in the music, you can tell, because she does this bop bop kind of thing with her torso as she's playing. She's leaning towards the keyboard like she's trying to put extra emphasis into particular notes. And Gill, I saw him like… seven hours ago, drumming away for technique class. He looks absolutely the same. Beanie. Flannel, orange today, sleeves rolled up to the elbows…

Ah, fuck it. Peeta is standing up there next to Madge holding that damn violin and wearing the same white tee from earlier today. And it still strains over his arms and shoulders. And he's doing these little finger flex exercises in the hand he holds his bow just before positioning the instrument under his chin. That chin so close to those tiny dimples…

I remain fixated on him, to my chagrin and absolutely nobody's surprise. I catch Jo looking over at me from time to time, and I know what she's thinking – That its okay to let a little fascination like this run away once in a while.

But I don't date, don't do well with relationships with anyone except people I can count on one hand, and people tend to dislike me after first glance. So its safe for me to continue ogling him from afar because I know, I KNOW, that nothing will happen…

And its this exact moment that I hear the piano keys twinkle and begin a new song, a song that sends a thrill down my spine. Madge says over the notes something about "having to learn this one last minute for Peeta," and my eyes immediately lock with his onstage for one fleeting moment as she starts to sing.

You're in the mood for love

You're in the mood to dance

You're in the mood for a little romance

You're in the mood for love.

I inhale a shaky gasp and fold my arms around my chest. I fight my initial impulse to feel exposed because, really, there can be no way anybody here even knows what transpired this morning. But as it stands, there is this new little secret between Peeta and me. When I chance a look at him, he smiles and raises a brow to me, as if he is seeking approval or something… shit, maybe he's teasing me – which might be even worse because I don't do "tease". But his eyes quickly flit away back to his strings, and its much easier to think without those endless blue pools locked onto my own.

I do one quick little shake of my head, close my eyes, and assess my situation.

Peeta added this song to the set last minute…

Was it for me? Because he knew I was coming?

The idea sends rapid flutters through my chest. There's no way. What, I just danced around like an idiot early this morning, and he in his unfortunate timing happened to walk in, seeing me in all my uninhibited glory, dancing the way not even Madge, Jo, or even Prim really have ever seen…

And its now, right in this train of thought, that he looks my way again and it just takes one small, crooked Peeta smile to make me decide that its okay that he saw me dance. In fact, I may have kind of loved it. His deep blue eyes are almost cerulean and completely alight, practically sparkling – I have never seen a pair of eyes so dimensional before. And his hands keep moving along the strings and holding the bow. I meet his smile with a small, timid one of my own, catching my bottom lip between my teeth in the corner like I do when I'm embarrassed. And pretty soon I have to look away, because you can only gaze at something so lovely and inhuman for a short time, only to notice Jo has seen the entire exchange.

She shakes her head, pulls her phone out of her bag and begins a text, and I think I might be off the hook… only to be shoved her phone in my hand that she pulled out of the death grip around my chest.

Whatever the fuck that was, YOU BETTER be telling me all the deets when you finally take his pants off. Because an ass that fills out jeans like that better perform.


	4. Chapter 4

So "Ashes" finishes the set they had planned, and because I am the way I am, I turn to Jo, whisper a frantic "gotta get out of here!", grab her by the arm, and start hauling ass to her car parked around the corner. She is intentionally dragging her feet, makes me stop at the fire pits so she can pretend to fix her shoe – bitch is wearing Toms, they go on like fucking slippers, there is nothing to fix! This is her way of making me confront what has just passed between Peeta and myself.

Suffice it to say that I am freaking out. I nervously glance up at every person leaving the venue and have mini panic attacks each time, until I realize none of them are him. At the first view of blonde hair peeking around the doorway, I audibly gasp and I'm sure I'm doing that constipated looking face, but I'm in luck because its some girl with a pixie cut. Delly, I think. I am done waiting. "Jo. JO!" My hands beckon her to hurry, doing floppy little circles with my wrists. She sighs heavily, pushes herself off the pit and slowly walks toward me.

"I just don't know what your deal is. "

That's fine. She doesn't have to understand. I just need her to keep moving towards her car that will soon get us miles away from here.

We are out the gate, headed down the alleyway studded with little Victorian houses, when I hear him. "Katniss! Wait up!"

Without wasting any time, Johanna steps on the back of my right foot, sliding my oxford shoe from my heel and effectively giving me the world's most inopportune flat tire. I hop on my left foot, send a scathing look her way, and reach down to correct my footwear. By now, Peeta is basically at my side.

"Hey." He turns to Jo. "I'm Peeta. Mellark. "

"Yes, hello to you, Mr. Mellark. I'm Jo, a friend of Madge." She is addressing him but looking at me, and I am looking at nothing in particular. "Another flawless show for you and your friends. Kat especially likes cover songs covered by cute-"

"What's up, Peeta?" I quickly interject before things turn terrible for me. Not likely I will be able to salvage this evening anyways past this point. Maybe I should have said something positive about the show…

He's smiling and leaning slightly to the side, trying to get me to make eye contact with him. I swivel on my heel, meeting his gaze for one second – which is probably too long, really, because his blue eyes make me feel lightheaded. And that goddamn smile. Fucking Peeta. My eyes are moving too much, I'm blinking excessively, looking from his eyes to his honey colored hair under the street lights, back to his eyes, and then to his lips. Big mistake. Those dimples are back.

"Did you guys have plans for… well, the rest of your evening? The band and a few other friends are headed to my place. You should come. Just drinks and coffee and… good company." Its like the smile and the dimples do all the talking for him. All he really needs to do is stand in place and let the womenfolk turn to a puddle at his feet.

I open my mouth to say Thanks but no thanks, but am beat to the punch by traitorous Jo who excitedly accepts his invitation and his address. She even offers to stop by the liquor store on our way over. My jaw is slack and my brows are furrowed – what exactly does she have in mind here? Peeta gives her this friendly little gesture of squeezing her shoulder, which comes exactly to his collar bone, with his palm, and when he smiles and walks away, I already know. I know its too late for me to escape whatever devious plot Jo is running in her head.

But maybe its not such a bad idea, to play around a bit, I think to myself as Peeta walks back to the venue, that damn carabiner clipped right where I saw it last, swinging back and forth across his perfect ass with each step. As soon as he leaves my view I turn to Jo to commence our belated escape, but the smile on her face confirms my thoughts that she is desperately trying to hold back a laugh at my awkwardness. "Fine, Jo, I will play it this way for you. Tonight only. But YOU have to buy the booze."

She finally releases her held in laugh and gently shoves my shoulder as we begin walking again. "I just wish you could tell me why you have such a hesitation to flirt with cute guys who flirt first. He totally sought you out, Kat, running – HE RAN! – out here to invite us – you. And he's fine as hell."

I just shake my head. Yes, I know he is cute – I have practically been obsessing with him since that first concert, and seeing him this morning and then again tonight with the song thing, and oh! I just know I could fall completely to pieces over that blonde hair and those sapphire eyes, completely setting aside all of his other merits that make him a decent person. I don't want him to be decent! I want him to be a total dick so I can stop thinking about those little worn whiskers on his jeans…

I know Johanna is still talking, still saying all kinds of stupid shit about how I should "just hit it and quit it" – yeah, like I could even get someone like Peeta in my bed EVER – but I just keep my head down and study the pavement. I jiggle the handle to her sedan at least three times before she actually hits the right button to unlock it, after hitting panic twice and yelling "Fuck!" once.

The ride to the liquor store is brief, which works for me because Jo has started speculating my virginity even though she knows every torrid and embarrassing detail of my two "conquests", a ridiculously generous name for whatever happened between myself and Jess first, and then myself and Seth. Ugh. I shiver thinking about both of those asshats. A girl gets a few free passes though, right?

She starts ticking items off her fingers. "Alright, I feel like losing myself in a bottle of el Jimador. Madgie loves the fruity shit. Nah, fuck that, she can deal without bitch beer for one night. What would a smokin hot hipster a la Peeta Mellark want to chase away the pain of aloof Kat?"

"Beer. And there is nothing 'aloof' to chase away." I have no idea what is good or not – not a big drinker. Although I very much look forward to having the edge taken off tonight… "Something from Squatters? Like a micro or something?"

Jo swings the door open grandly and announces "He gets PBR. Its like, totally the 'make fun of a hipster beer'. In a cheap beer line up, I pick PBR."

I can't not laugh at this. Hopefully she stays sober enough tonight to keep me from doing anything stupid…

Its weird, but there are thirteen steps to Peeta's loft above The Pride Center, and this is me admitting to counting stairs when I stress the freak out. Normally there are twelve. But anyways, I took careful note of the cars parked outside and immediately recognized Madge's little two door, Peeta's Subaru, and Gill's fixie leaned up against one side of a pergola. I can do this, I remind myself, preparing for whatever brash entrance Johanna is planning. His door is ajar and I can already hear music and laughter and someone in the middle of some raucous story.

"The booze is here, you whores," one of few terms of endearment from Johanna. Its moments like this when I sincerely envy her confidence, the way she walks into the apartment, right into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets for cups and a knife to cut limes. Its like she's been here a thousand times before. I stand awkwardly just inside the door before I realize how weird I must look and start walking to inspect a framed print to my right. Upon closer inspection, it's a Ken Bailey, just like I thought. Three Lab Bakery. Dammit. Even though I am wearing flats, the heels of my shoes make what sounds to me as unnecessarily loud clicks and clacks against the wood floor. The rest of the group is noisily getting drinks set up and someone, Gill I think, continues the story Jo and I must have interrupted when I see a teal blue upright piano just to the side of the largest warehouse window overlooking the city. Piano too? And an antique collectible one at that…

My hands move of their own accord to lift the key cover, gingerly opening the hinge so I don't attract the attention of the rest of the room. I glance quickly over my shoulder to the kitchen area full of crowded young people and chance a gentle press to a piano key. Its lovely, the sound rich and full, Peeta very obviously treasures his instruments and keeps them in tune. Just as I'm closing the cover, he appears to my left, holding an amber colored glass out to me. "Johanna said you wouldn't want beer, so tequila it is. Or I have coffee… I can make coffee."

I take the small glass from his hand, careful not to touch his skin or even look in his eyes. "This is good. Thanks." My free hand finds the small of my back, and mostly for something to do other than obsess over his beauty, I move to look out the large window at the twinkling lights of the city. There are no shades or blinds – the busyness of downtown must be always visible to him here. But I would bet he enjoys that…

"I'm glad you came. Both of you. Have you, uh, have you met the rest of the group?"

Is he nervous?

I take two big swallows of this mediocre drink before turning to face him. The heat from the cheap tequila fills my chest and brings a flush to my face, and now that I am feeling braver and slightly silly I look his way just in time to see him bring his can to his lips. "Oh my god! It totally is the hipster beer!"

Peeta swallows quickly, glances down at his hand that holds a single can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and when he meets my gaze again he is smiling. "You pegged me exactly right, you and Johanna should be very proud of yourselves."

God he's cute.

"Just one can, though. Gill will be completely plastered, you and Madge look like lightweights – no offense – but Johanna might be able to hold her own… Somebody here has to be responsible. Oh! And Delly, I gotta get the coffee started for Delly," he motions for me to follow him into the now empty kitchen. I hesitate before I slowly echo his footsteps.

I sit on one of the stools lining the counter and watch him as he fiddles with his coffeemaker, replacing the filter and shaking new grounds inside. When he turns around to face me he takes two steps closer, resting his palms on the counter to either side of my elbows bent around my glass. I shy away from his gaze and become immediately fascinated by the lime sandwiched between two ice cubes.

"I'm not a creep, you know," he not quite whispers to me and I raise my head. There's this twinkle in his eyes – he's teasing and adorable and I'm melting the longer I look at him so swivel in the chair to be seated more on the side. Better. He continues. "But maybe saying that 'I'm not a creeper' automatically makes me one, but of a less degree. I just… I hope I didn't upset you today. You," he takes a deep breath. "You're very talented."

"YOU think I'M talented?" The one facial expression I successfully convey is sarcasm. "Right, Peeta, I'm on my way to fame and fortune as this generation's Isadora Duncan, who you don't even know so that was a dumb reference. Black Swan – I'm soon to be Black Swan. Yep." I chug the rest of my drink, not so gently put my glass on his butcher block counter, and reach for the bottle.

He is laughing – am I even being funny? "No, I know Isadora – she's the scarf one, right?" When I nod, he adds, "Tragic," and he is laughing again. It's a deep, breathy sound, and the fucking dimples are back and I think I'm finished treading water here.

Once my glass is full again, twice as full as the first time, I step down from my seat, raise my glass to salute him and turn back to the group to locate Jo or Madge or someone easier to look at without getting all aflutter. I spot Madge, out cold, lounging across two-thirds of the couch, snoring slightly with her mouth open. How long have we been here? I make my way to her, straighten her dress to look less scandalous – we were dangerously close to nipple, here – and pull her boots from her feet. If she's gonna crash at Peeta's I can at least make it comfortable for her, I guess. When I stand I realize my glass has been drained yet again. "Who drank my fucking 'quila?" I might have yelled this, even though it was my intention to just think it, but…

There is laughter, male-sounding laughter, and I take count of the people in the room. There are at least twelve, fourteen people here… But when I started drinking there were… maybe six? Shit. When did this happen?

I lean down to one man's face, rest my palm on his chest, and not knowing who he is at all, ask him if he's seen Jo, describing her short dark hair, ample boobs, and crass personality. He says something about Gill taking a girl down the hall and I instantly enrage.

"No way. If I don't get ass, she doesn't get ass," and I take off marching to what I think is the hallway. But before I can get there I gracelessly move out of the way of two dudes tossing a football, and shove myself into a gaggle of girls I don't recognize. This is my mistake. They are dancing and jumping, and in one fell swoop I take an elbow to the temple and crumple to the floor.

Sleep at last.

Sounds flutter back to me before visuals do. I distinctly hear Peeta talking to another female voice that sounds vaguely familiar but I have trouble placing. Also there is music again – whether it stopped and started again or I just became unaware of it, I don't know. I let the security of closed eyes and momentary drunk confusion wash over me. I have been an ass. I'm embarrassed, and not just by my weak anti-social performance here. The day's events replay in my mind, and I get stuck more than once on the scene of meeting Peeta in the faculty studio, and walking him out to his car. This has to stop.

I force my eyes open, and once I adjust to the lights, I notice Peeta leaning against the back of the couch and Delly kneeling next to me. For half a second I get kind of mad that they left me here on the floor – I guess I imagined going full out damsel and waking in a four poster bed. Weird. Everything feels really weird. This is not shit that I do.

"I am so sorry. And I am so embarrassed. I didn't… ruin the night for anybody, did I?" My hands make themselves into fists and I rub both of my eyes. I pull my hands away and notice streaks of my purple eye pencil, and surely I now have scary zombie under eyes from rubbing my makeup. I gingerly rise up onto my elbows when Delly starts speaking.

"Ya, you took quite the spill there. For a second I thought you had hit the end table on your way, smacked your head or hip or something important, based on how hard you went down. Like a ton of bricks. But you look like a little petite flower though so… that was different…"

God. My mortification grows with every second I stay in this apartment, in a heap on the floor. "I actually feel okay, and I better get home." Shit! Jo is MIA, I am not about to drive, and Madge is still out. "Uh, I actually… um, I might have to stay until Jo comes back. Or gets tired of that guy or… something." I nervously glance up at Peeta. "Sorry. Kind of wore out my welcome."

He's chewing one side of his mouth and raises his eyebrows. "Nah, I can appreciate a girl trying to have a good time."

"Yeah," I scoff, straightening my shorts as I stand. "Not what I was aiming for, but I'm glad you can forgive me."

I take a step forward, reaching for the blazer I removed at some point during the night and misstep poorly, apparently still on my sea legs. Delly grabs me by my arm to steady me, saying "Easy. I can take you home, Katniss. I was just on my way out, anyways." She looks over at Madge, then to Peeta. "Please make sure that girl's dress stays up. I would take her home too, but I kind of have my hands full here."

I am a terrible friend because I allow Delly, this petite blonde girl with bird bone arms, to take me away from Madge. But I just feel so completely awful that I hope she can overlook my stupidity. With Delly still steadying me by my arm, I turn around just enough to address Peeta one last time. Maybe the last time ever. "She'll be okay, right? Madgie? You'll make sure she's safely… deposited… at home, right?"

"Don't worry, Katniss. I'm getting ready to toss everyone out soon anyways." I catch movement near his side – the fingers on his right hand are wiggling, bending and straightening, like he doesn't know what to do with them. They find their way into his front pocket, and one more time tonight I question his confidence. Obviously he is a gifted performer, but that's lots of people in one space all just waiting for him to be wonderful. Do I make him nervous? I kind of hope so – because this son of a bitch invades my thoughts more than necessary. "Goodnight. Katniss," he says, and I halfway smile and nod to him.

Delly helps me down the stairs and into the front seat of her van. "Every band needs one – lucky me, huh." I twist in my seat and see everyone's instruments in the back piled high, almost completely blocking out her rear view.

I somehow manage to give her cohesive enough directions to my apartment across from the city center. I close my eyes and listen to her prattle on about a few different things, none of which is very consequential. She brings up music (predictably), coffee (lame), and school (meh). When she says something about Peeta and "the girly Ingrid Michaelson song", I open my eyes and immediately tune in. "He likes that song, you know. And he told me what happened."

My face heats up – so its not a Peeta/Katniss secret, my solo dancing earlier today. I don't know what to say, but lucky for me she keeps talking. "We should try this again – hanging out together. All of us, maybe. What do you think? In fact," she digs in her bag by the center console, pulling out her phone and handing it to me. "Add yourself to my contacts. I was going to make sure I got your digits so I could text you tomorrow, make sure you were feeling okay."

Fine. This seems harmless enough. I hit save just as she pulls up to my building. I hand her phone over, mutter a quiet thanks, and head inside alone. When I climb the stairs I feel a slight buzz from my tote bag – she is already texting me. Cute. Right?

Once inside my safe haven that is this shitty apartment, I kick off my shoes with my shorts immediately to follow. The jacket gets tossed somewhere. I have just enough energy to brush my teeth and plug my phone into the charger. I collapse face down on the bed and am out like a light.

When I wake many hours later but not nearly enough, I am relieved to see Madge in my bed with me. She made it here at least, in what shape exactly I can't be sure. Her boob has finally escaped the confines of her sundress though, so I toss an extra blanket over her.

I walk to the kitchen, which is further than my 700 feet apartment I'm pretty sure, grab a couple bottles of water and a bottle of aspirin. When I get back to my room, I close the shades, medicate myself heavily, and reach for my cell. There are four new texts.

Unknown: HI! Delly here. Hope ur feeling better. M and I were gonna have coffee later today. U should come

Not likely. I am down for the count, and I doubt "M" is going anywhere anytime soon. Next.

JoHoe (her doing, not my idea): We didn't fuck. Just FYI.

Oh good. At least her virtue remains intact as far as Gill is concerned. Slightly amused at the name she assigned herself in my phone…

Madgie: OMG OMG PRETTY SURE GILL DIGGIN JO BUT I AM WAY DRUNK AND ALL CAPS.

A very astute observation. Right as I'm thinking this she lets out an unusually loud snore.

Unknown: Delly again – I gave Peet your number. Sorry not sorry.

Well this should be interesting.


	5. Chapter 5

I am sweating. I am a sweat-er, just a big sweaty mess when I dance. It is gross (sorry), but I barely even notice because I am moving and eating up the studio space with my peers. Just as technique comes to a close, Abby asked me and a few others to demonstrate the choreography. It is empowering – every one watching is a dancer and understands the artist mentality, that we are all just dreamers doing what we love because we love it, seeking very little in return. The wonderful thing (well, one of) about being a dance major in addition to my “Real Life” major, is when I occasionally allow myself these moments, small pieces of time to really FEEL like dancing and moving. The rest of the class cheers us on, and Jack and Gill working the drum kits feel everyone’s excited energy and feed off of it. Pretty soon I am high from music and movement.

Yes, my inner hippie is showing, I know.

Class finishes, we stomp our feet on the marley floor in appreciation of our talented musicians, clap for Abby, and she hurriedly makes a forgotten announcement. “Today is the deadline for sign ups into ‘Seminar of Music and Dance Collaboration’ or Danc5960. Its only a half semester and completely worthwhile. If you have time in your schedule, I heartily recommend.”  
My breath catches in my chest, as it has the last week anytime absolutely anybody mentions anything related to music, musicians, or musicians on campus. My thoughts immediately flit to Peeta Mellark. I feel a draw to him, I tell myself it is because of his talent but the visuals of him being adorable and sexy and bashful assault my memory. My mind wants to esteem him for his skill, but my heart has other ideas… No, my draw to him is not innocent, not simply the student’s adoration of the mentor. I want my face close to his so I can feel the scruff of his short beard against my jaw, I need to get my hands buried deep into his honey colored locks and tug back, so I can get a good look at those cerulean eyes…  
STOP. I shake my head and alert myself to my own ridiculousness while slipping my feet into my shoes and bending over to tie the laces. I was an idiot at his little party or gathering or whatever; I was antisocial, drunk, and grumpy. He is not interested in me.   
Because it has been more than a week since Delly gave him my number, and despite my obsessive checking, there have been no texts or calls from Peeta.   
And I would know if there were. Because I have been surreptitiously checking to be certain I was never in a deadzone, like a thirteen year old girl would.   
And I am already enrolled in the seminar. I signed up before even knowing anything about him, and I smack my palm to my forehead twice because I am SO STUPID for having any kind of feelings about him being involved in the class. I know each dance major is paired with a composer for a project, but it is completely irrational for me to worry/get excited that I may work with him… He is doing bigger and better things, I am sure, not sitting through a four week seminar for fine art majors.   
And so I go back to checking the reception on my phone. Full bars.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Madge is busy this week, busier than she was last week, and told me to anticipate a zombie lifeform of herself, if she was seen at all anywhere outside of the library. She is putting together her application for the MBA program, which she will be accepted to, I have no doubt, but she still manages to freak herself out from time to time over having one too many letters of reference from her professors – like that’s a bad thing. Silly girl. Regardless, it leaves me alone with my thoughts far too much. And when I don’t want to think anymore, I call Jo.

She arrives at my apartment the Thursday night following the Ingrid Michaelson incident, and I have every intention of getting her to spill all kinds of deets about Gill and hopefully talk her into driving me to get dinner at some point. My plan is completely foiled though when I open the door and see her dressed to the nines with dark, smoky eyes, her fantastic leopard print one shoulder dress complete with skinny belt and black peep toe fuck-me shoes. “What is this?” I ask, zipping my tattered U hoodie clear to my chin while I fight not so mild butterflies. “I told you to come over for a QUIET evening, Jo.”

“I decided we’re going out. Since you’re so into musicians now,” I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, preparing my defense but she pushes her way into the apartment, toting bags I hadn’t noticed until now. “There’s a show at The Depot. Gill told me about it and I pretended I already had plans to be there, so… yeah. Get your shit together, Kat. We need to be looking good tonight.” She is already walking down the hall to my bedroom, pausing to crank the knob on the bathtub on her way. “Vite vite, brainless, we have like twenty minutes here.”

I sigh. It is pointless to resist. If it was anybody but Jo, I could maybe put my feet down and maintain the quiet ‘Doctor Who’ marathon I had in mind. But at least this offers a decent segue into what’s going on between she and Gilly boy. I follow her down the hall, kicking off my slippers with my flannel shorts soon to follow. My sweater is unzipped and I pull my arms out of the sleeves but leave the hood on my head. “I’m not wearing whatever it is you brought for me,” I gripe aloud from the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so I can hear Johanna from my bedroom. 

She laughs and responds “Yeah, okay,” and cranks the volume on my Jawbone speaker – the only cool thing I allowed myself in the past twelve months. And even then I made myself stand in line for stupid Black Friday to save fifty bucks. Dumb. I just don’t spend my money – who would I even spend it on? I think to myself as I run a razor over my shin stopping at my knee – not even worth going all the way up because I fully intend to keep my pants on all night, regardless of what Jo has in mind. But I know, ultimately, that if Prim ever wanted anything, no matter how ridiculous or extravagant, I would try my best to get it for her. Or at least manage some kind of knock-off or homemade variety…

But for Prim, I would do just about anything. She works so hard, studies so much. I feel bad for her sometimes, when I remember all of the sacrifices she is making, that all of us have to make, to even be here at school. Living on campus to maintain one of her scholarships, with five other sophomore females. Ugh. I shudder at the estrogen. Tutoring Math950 and 955, for free, to build her resume for graduate school. Driving her shitty little 94 Beretta to her other job, that may as well be volunteer because of the pay. Its worth it though. Because she is happy. And I know she will be wonderful and an absolutely imperative contributor to society. She says she wants to be the one to cure Diabetes – she and her roommate Jane theorize about cures all the time. 

I wonder if her one roommate ever killed Diablo…

“KATNISS! Hurry the fuck up. Please.”

With a sigh I pull the bathtub drain out with my toe, give a little flick of my ankle and toss the plug, catching it and putting it back in its ‘designated spot’, according to Madge. Best not to piss her off until her application is finished. I wrap myself in my fluffiest towel – well, it was once fluffy – and march into my room where Jo is waiting with eyeshadow and brush in hand. She’s annoyed, but I am too, so I take my time putting panties and a bra on while she obnoxiously taps her toe. Once decent, I drop the towel in a heap and plop down next to her on the bed so she can paint my face up the way she wants. 

“Tell me about Gill.”

“God.” She immediately softens. “He is such a tortured soul and I fucking love it. Did you know he is actually from the neighboring town as you – Spring City? Right? That’s right next to Mountain Green… isn’t it? And he has this little sister that completely owns him…” 

She continues, both in making me up and in ranting about Gill. Perfect. My mind can drift to greener pastures and blonder musicians…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jo parks around the corner, just outside of the pay parking lot, slams the door of her sedan shut and adjusts her bra very ‘hands on’ like – full on palm-age of her breasts, pushing on her underwire to be what I like to call “jugs a poppin”. I fold my arms across my own petite chest and raise my brows to her. She nods to me that she’s ready to make her entrance, circling her right wrist and tilting her head and says “Werk!” I can’t hold back the laugh that accompanies this behavior. Tonight will at least be fun…

Once inside The Depot Jo directs me to a dimly lit table with two stools and positions herself in the one with the best view of the door. We are immediately approached by a cocktail waitress asking for our drink orders, but Jo responds with “Fuck that. Boys are buying tonight so we’ll see you later.” The waitress, Halley by her name tag, glances at me just long enough for me to mouth ‘sorry’ and walks off to the next pain in the ass concert-goers. Why am I here? I look down at my own outfit – I am looking not so ‘fuckable’ tonight in my leggings, oversized tunic blouse that I may or may not have purchased from the maternity section, and my hair twisted into a braided headband. This was a mistake. 

Why do I keep doing shit like this?

Probably because Johanna is one of my best friends.

I am saved from further emotional discovery when the overhead lights dim at this exact moment and the band we have come to see, that I don’t even know the name of, walks onstage to raucous cheers. Jo immediately assumes her ‘come hither’ look, so Gill must have just entered the building. I roll my eyes at the way she hops down from her stool, arching her stance with her left hand pressed against the small of her back, no doubt so her ass looks delicious when he notices her standing here.

And he does. He walks in from the gated patio outside and heads straight to her, wrapping a hand around her bent elbow and turning her slightly to face him. He tips her chin back with his other hand and leans in as if for a kiss, but Jo turns her head shyly at the last second, then flashes her devilish grin at him. Well, that’s my cue. I wave a halfhearted wave to Gill and hop down from the stool. He nods to me and turns back to Jo, who is sending serious smoke signals tonight. God. These two are perfect for each other – their flirtsy mind games will keep them occupied for a while. 

I walk over to the bar, order a ginger ale with a lime, determined not to repeat last Friday, and generously tip my friend Halley when she brings me extra napkins. She must be able to tell I am just one of those klutzy people who can’t even manage an eight ounce beverage. Bless her. I find a seat left alone near the corner and make myself at home, bending my knees to my chest and tucking my feet under and to the side. I reach into my farmers market tote that Jo almost didn’t let me bring and pull out my book.

Yes, I brought a book to a concert. 

If this surprises anyone, they simply don’t know me at all.

Every couple of pages I make sure I check on Jo. The first time I look up at her, she and Gill, and a few other men actually, are all doing shots. Great. She’ll be fine. Back to my book.

When I glance at her at the completion of my latest chapter, Gill has his arms wrapped around her, tugging her close – which is totally in opposition to the heavy bass line and deep intonations of the music. Not exactly a song I would get all snuggly to, but whatever. And now she is kissing his neck…

She’ll be fine. I made her promise she wouldn’t ditch me tonight like she did the other night at Peeta’s, so I feel at least comfortable enough allowing this affectionate atrocity to continue. Her eyes meet mine and I gesture my head to the side, indicating I’m heading out to the patio. She nods her acknowledgement just as Gill’s fingers start twisting the downy baby hairs on the back of her neck. Aaaannnd, I’m out.

The air outside is crisp, but not too cool, just clear enough to awaken myself to my reality. That no one is wrapping their arms around me or playing with my little frizzies, and that I would rather drink mildly watered down soda and read a novel than be social at a concert. But duh! It’s a concert – how much talking could one really do when the bass line is as heavy as it is with these sounds? This is as rational as any justification for my behavior, I convince myself as I settle into a chair close to a portable heater/lamppost kind of thing, again tucking my feet underneath me. 

After a few minutes, I start absently playing with a loose hair pin, tug it out of my braid and busy my mouth with it. I am like a cat with things like this – there is no stopping me. I soon have my entire mess of hair unbraided and falling loosely and carelessly around my face and shoulders. When I bend over to drop the now useless pins into my tote, the crowd of people who had been occupying most of the patio clears, and I can see, to my utter horror/delight/fascination, that Peeta Mellark is sitting in a chair like mine on the opposite end of the space. I stare. Complete wide eyed stare. But he doesn’t see me.

Because his nose is in a book.

A book in the same series as the one I am currently reading. 

What is happening? Fucking universe. Chalk it up to Jo’s aggression rubbing off on me, or maybe my jealousy at how easily it was for her and Gill to get cozy, but, just above a whisper, I say his name. Nothing. Come on, chicken shit, turn up the volume, I tell myself. “Peeta?”I have him this time. He looks my way and I hesitantly shoot him a fluttery finger wave and shyly smile. His answering smile puts mine to shame – it is radiant, blindingly beautiful, the way his lips curve ever so slightly crooked, revealing a smattering of dimples across the right side of his chin. And I forgot about the fucking dimples! I am a goner. 

“What’s up, Katniss Everdeen? Is the music not to your liking?”

I give a short hmph laugh at this – “I could ask the same of you.”

He rises from his seat, twisting just enough to reach a messenger bag I hadn’t noticed and giving me a brief view of THAT ASS, the ass that keeps me up at night. He straightens with the strap on his shoulder and collects his jacket from the back of the chair. Is he going inside? Did I do something antisocial and shitty already? …Or is he coming to sit by me?

He’s gonna sit by me. 

My eyes do this rapid blink thing when I get excited or nervous, and I can’t quite decide what to look at so I decide to switch my feet to my other side. I have composed myself just enough to notice the steel blue color of his shirt and the complimentary effects on his cerulean eyes. His hair looks a little wavier than I remember – or maybe it has always been kind of curly – but either way, the only concrete thought in my head is this:

God, he is cute.

And I can’t help but smile at his tee shirt. There is an image of a Gibson guitar with the lettering underneath “Les is more.” He sees me looking and says “Its because –

“Les Paul Custom, yeah I know.” He raises his eyebrows to me and eases down onto the bench nearest my seat. I have impressed him, I think… “Madge.” He nods his acknowledgement, and his goddamn smile – if I look directly at it, I will end up smiling just as big back to him. “She keeps me in the music-know. We artists need to stick together,” I say with a small tilt of my head in his direction, before I start chewing on the corner of my bottom lip. 

“Yeah I guess we do… I hope I can include myself in your artist community.” He tugs just slightly on the front thighs of his Levis and scoots a little towards the edge of his seat – I immediately am reminded of Johanna telling me guys do this trick, among many others, to tuck raging boners into less conspicuous places of their pants…

God, seriously? “Yeah sure.” Hurry brain, think! Think of something clever to talk about!

I, lamely, I confess, remember the book. Fantasy fiction might be the only way to get my mind off of Peeta’s nether Levi regions right now so, why the fuck not? I ask him “So, Robert Jordan, huh?”

His head falls back onto his shoulders and his eyes close for a moment just before opening again with a renewed twinkle and a slight pink flush spreads to his cheeks. He smiles shyly and runs his right hand through the hair on the back of his head before nodding and answering me. “My brother – his suggestion. Well, not so much a suggestion as a ‘you HAVE to read this series’, and I just… I never really got into anything so fantasy before, and-“

“And you love it, huh. It wasn’t too hard to tell, you know, by the way you had your nose buried in The Shadow Rising at a concert, Peeta the musician…” 

He laughs, and I soften just a little, let my head fall to the side and consciously make my face less “aggressive”, as Madge would call it – open my eyes wide and doe-y, let my mouth fall open slightly. She said naturally my face looks intimidating as hell…

“Okay, so I feel at a disadvantage here, because you know my secret love of PBR and fantasy novels, and all I know about you is your… stealthy… little dance you do when you think no one is looking. Not fair.” He shakes his head teasingly, does a quick look of me down and then back up, and I just start a burn, a fucking burn from the way his eyes bore into mine. 

But if he thinks I’m hot he should have called…

Because my thoughts are getting way too muddled way too fast, I break my gaze away from his to reach around to my side, where I grab my book and toss it to him. His reflexes are quick – he catches the 1200 page book without the smirk leaving his face, and turns the book over in his hands to examine the cover. He does a quick double take at the title and then back to me. I just nod, smile a little, and go back to chewing on the corner of my lip.

“No way,” he says. “Are we the same person? Bringing books from the same series to read at the same concert?” I laugh, quietly, and look down at my feet tucked to my side. “Did you come as wingman to see ‘Junior’ here, too?” I raise my eyebrows a little and nod, waiting for Peeta to continue his assessment of our similarities – I like this way too much. “Gill was worried Johanna wouldn’t show. Don’t tell anyone,” he says conspiratorially and leans closer to me. I find myself leaning towards him too. “But he really likes   
her. I guess they really hit it off the other night…”

Ugh, no. Let’s not rehash that gravy train of drunken stupor. I need a change of subject and fast. Think! Don’t look at his eyes or at his crotch or at that little freckle I just barely noticed. Its small and perfectly round and situated just so about an inch above his collar bone…

NOT HELPING.

I give myself a quick shake of the head and take a deep breath – get it together. I am a lucky girl because as I exhale to say something that will no doubt be stupid and embarrassing, Johanna appears out on the patio lugging Gill behind her by the hand. Perfect.   
“We’re done, Kat. Let’s go,” she announces before offering a quick hi and goodbye to Peeta and plastering one last lingering kiss on Gill’s neck. I know this technique of hers – its to uphold the ‘intrigue’, to keep the mister thinking you have the social calendar of a New York City debutante, to make HIM call you, text you, basically beg you for your time. 

I’m tired just thinking about it.

She walks out the gate of the patio and off towards her car without a glance back at the three of us. I know without looking at him that Gill is still watching the sway of her hips emphasized greatly in her four inch heels and minidress. Hell, even I can’t turn away from the sight of her hot bod.

When I finally do, Peeta hands me back my copy of Towers of Midnight and bends down before I do to pick up my tote and place it back in my hands as well. I loop my left arm through the canvas straps, holding my book across my chest, and just look up at him. That little freckle – how did I not notice it before? And there is this one curl near the nape of his neck that looks especially blonde… like, way blonder than the rest. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out “Were you going to call me?”

Fuck. 

So much for ‘intrigue’.

Peeta lets out a nervous laugh, looks down at the ground and when he looks at me again, his smile is stretching across his face in its adorable, crooked way. My mind screams dimples! And I. Just. Can’t. Believe. How dumb I have made myself look.

And how uncomfortable I have made Peeta… 

He nods at me just as I feel a vibration in my pocket that must be Jo wondering what the hell the holdup is, and says, as he widens his grin, “I think you might be hearing from me.”

The smile stealing across my face is genuine and heats the blush in my cheeks and neck. I manage a nod Gill’s way, whisper a shy “goodnight” to Peeta, turn on my heel and walk through the gate to the sidewalk. 

I make it around the corner to where Jo is waiting in her car before I finally exhale.


	6. Chapter 6

Peeta wastes no time in contacting me, and I feel fire in my cheeks and neck when I get home the night of the concert and discover not one, but two texts from him since leaving The Depot. 

P: Saw your name on my roll for 5960.

P: The collaboration seminar.

My fingers frantically fly across the screen of my phone, and after three attempts at being charming I am finally satisfied.

K: I was thinking our paths would cross again – it’s a small university, you know :)

I don’t add that by “thinking” I mean “hoping”.

P: Getting smaller all the time. I think you were the one to say we artists need to stick together.

K: Sounds like me… I think I also did stupid shit that night like get drunk off mediocre tequila, but yes, sometimes I am quite philosophical…

Thus begins our week long flirtation via SMS. Thank god for technology.

I am never this good on the spot. Its only because we are texting that I can even sound remotely cool, because I can review and edit my response for ten minutes before sending it, checking for any double entendres that will make me look like a jackass. I spend an inordinate amount of time checking my phone, ensuring I have a full battery, that the text alert is on, and other such buffoonery of a girl crushing. 

This is not like me. Also unlike me is having flirtsy interaction with a charming guy.

Same charming guy who mentioned seeing my name among his students…

A charming guy who is also kind of my professor…

What in the hell am I thinking? I can’t like a teacher! Even if he is my professor for like, what, three weeks? I am riding the train to Whole Foods when I have this revelation, and I can feel the air whistle through my teeth as I gasp shakily, jaw taut and eyes suddenly affixed to a spot of gum under my bench. What happens next, I wonder… Do we just continue this kind of conversation and then greet each other as intellectuals Thursday morning? Yeah, that won’t be weird at all…

The ding of the train door sliding open occurs at exactly the same time Jo’s fake exaggerated orgasm text alert pops up, indicating a message from her.

JoHoe: So apparently there is this thing on Saturday. You are in with me – no bullshit this time, I swear. I will be good, you will be charming, Peeta will be musical, it will be magic, just wait.

I drop my phone into my canvas grocery tote (be green!) with a sigh. I need time to mull over this teacher-student business, to decide just how badly I want to crush on somebody so gifted musically and in filling out levis who happens to also be *kind of* an authority figure… 

I will consider this over produce selection, I guess.

My careful variety of apples in interrupted – it can’t be more than five minutes later when I hear another ding from my phone, but because this one was not Johanna and might possibly be from Peeta, I drop the honeycrisp in my hand to thrash through the tote, past my wallet and keys, and grasp my phone, clutching it in my ninja death grip and trying, unsuccessfully, to lower my suddenly elevated heart rate.

P: How do you feel about dogs?

Dammit, Peeta, stop being cute for twenty minutes so I can decide what I want, okay? 

Before I realize it, I have dialed Prim – but its Tuesday afternoon and I remember quickly that she tutors at this time so I hang up. Ugh, and I don’t really want to talk about this with her - It seems… inconsequential. She talks about goals and research. And I almost called her with a boy problem? Come on, Big Sis.

I take a deep breath, and from somewhere unknown within myself I find the strength to power down my cell. It hurts a little when the provider’s little tune plays, telling me its off, but groceries await! 

And Peeta Mellark and his mysteries can be patient for an hour or so. Or until I cave…

Nobody is more surprised than myself that it remains powered down for the rest of the night. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thursday morning arrives bright and brisk and light – the first day of the semester that actually requires a jacket for warmth and not just to cover my dance clothes. I feel the flush in my cheeks (for more than one reason, I’m sure) but I blame it on having to jog from the train stop to the education building for the seminar. I will be professional, is my mantra. A boy has been flirting with you through messaging and asking your opinions of symbolism in WoT, but today he is your instructor. You can do this.

I can do this. I can do this. 

I fling the side door to the classroom open only to find Peeta bent over an intricate tangle of wiring attached to a very sophisticated looking sound system, nicer than anything we have over in the dance department. He remains intent on the bundle, grasping what will fit in one hand while simultaneously straightening the waist of his jeans with the other. There is a fleeting moment where I see maybe two inches of underwear, counting, of course, the bright white waistband and where its sewn to the dark green fabric of what must be boxer briefs, and Omigod, why does this man have an ass that won’t quit? And why does the universe insist on taunting me with such a delectable muffin butt the very second I decide to chill the fuck out?

I take a deep breath and walk further into the room, already spotting an empty seat by my dancer friend, Benny. Do not look at Peeta. Do not look at Peeta’s ass. Do not look –

“Katniss? Hi.”

It had to happen sooner or later. My head drops back on my neck and I feel the loose hairs of my braided bun tickle my upper back. I spin on my heel to face him, trying desperately not to look foolish but certainly failing miserably, and meet his eyes and his smile with a shyer one of my own.

“Hey.” My hands need something to play with or the very least I need to learn to stop these nervous twitches. The second I get my fingers to stop twiddling, I feel my toe wiggle in my shoe…

“How are you?” he asks, sounding so sunny and cheerful and with that halo of blonde hair he is practically glowing. 

Out with it, I decide.

“You’re my teacher.” I level with him, totally deadpan, kind of smiling so as not to make myself feel weirder than I already do, but with my brows raised to show my concern. To my surprise, his smile grows, to the point of revealing those dimples under the right side of his mouth, and god, I just wanna touch his fucking face.

“Don’t get weird, Katniss. Its just for today. And not even all of today – just for –“he looks at the clock on the wall – “the next hour and forty minutes. And really I won’t even be teaching so much as facilitating a discussion, so… really I’m just everybody’s friend for right now.”

“And grading? Should I be ‘un-weird’ about that too?”

He laughs, a short exhalative, breathy sound before continuing. “I’m not in charge of that – grades are Abby’s domain. I’m not even a real professor, or associate professor, or even instructor – I’m ‘staff’!” I smirk and laugh a little at this too, but only because he’s being so good natured and friendly about it. 

“So, what did you say? ‘Facilitating a discussion’? Wanna give a girl a head’s up?”

His hands once again pull the waist of his jeans up over his hips, and thank you, jesus, for letting Peeta forget his belt today. “Just a few ideas of collaborative artists over time. Umm… Radiohead, Miles Davis, and uh, probably Aimee Mann. You know, just artists who didn’t care what people thought. For… inspiration, and choreography and… stuff, I guess.”

I’m in a strange kind of shock. Maybe he didn’t say his agenda in a very deliberate way, but I am impressed by him and his, well, his capability to be extremely profound. He picks up the bundled wires he absently dropped on the desk to his left and begins twisting them back and forth, like he’s trying to wring out a dish towel. When I continue studying his movements, I’m struck by his presence as an artist – he actually commands my attention, simply by standing here, holding his wires.

This should be good…

He meets my eyes again and runs his right hand through his hair – the spell is broken and I adjust my bag from across my chest and onto one shoulder, shrugging back and forth as I do so, looking away. 

“I guess its time to start. I gotta be everybody’s friend right now so…”

To my simultaneous horror and fascination, I blurt out, “But if you’re everybody’s friend, what makes me so special?”

The flush climbs up my neck and fills my face as my eyes grow wide with surprise at my own forwardness. Is this because of the artist talk? Did he really awe me that much, that I would speak like such a fucking bimbo?

There is a shift in the energy between us. Peeta tosses the cables back onto the desk, and with a quick look around the classroom to be certain heads are buried in books or glued to cell phones, he reaches towards me, lifting one of my fallen tote straps from where it hangs loose near my elbow, and placing it gently back on my shoulder. 

“The difference, Katniss, is that I want you to be my friend.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Two days later, I find myself en route to City Park, wearing a canary yellow oversized tee with the words “homeless dogs have it ruff” printed on my chest. Why, you ask? Because Madge and Peeta’s band is playing for free during the fair of Strut Your Mutt, the annual Humane Society fundraiser. I am intrigued by him in more ways than one, that’s for sure… intrigued enough to get involved in a mass dog walking event, anyways.

The train drops me off about a block away from the park, and Johanna is planning to meet me at the gates. I fully intend to keep her to her word today – she promised to be good, to keep the public face-sucking with Gill to a minimum – which is good for me, because I already have knots in my stomach after Thursday. Peeta definitely makes an impression as a lecturer, much like he does during performance, I think, and I actually felt drawn to him more after the seminar. He becomes a different person, almost, somebody very confident, educated, and excited about music when he is speaking or performing to a group. 

Its actually pretty fucking hot… 

I just don’t feel that secure in my own artistry to really dance in front of people I know, so I admire that about him, and at the same time want to wrap my fingers around those two front belt loops near his hip bones…

He reassured me, more than once, that we were once again on equal academic footing, and invited me formally to come today – even walking me out to his car for a ride to the dance building and to give me the unisex yellow tent I have on today. So here goes!

Jo flags me down, wearing the same shirt as me only on her it looks adorable – she must have made alterations or something – and she’s wearing these cute little seersucker shorts with wedge sandals – not the most practical thing for a dog walk, but its   
Johanna and she dresses to kill every minute of the day. “You look great,” I tell her. “What did you do to your shirt?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do to yours.” And with that, she grabs my hand and tugs me behind the nearby park restrooms, gesturing with a flick of her wrist that I should take this tent off. The tee only slightly fuzzes my singular French braid when I take it off; surprisingly the neckline on this beast is actually quite small for how boxy the rest of it is. I’m standing behind the small brick and cinderblock building in my sports bra when Jo pulls a pair of scissors from her purse. “Whoa. Nothing slutty, okay?”

She fixes me with a look, head tilted down and eyes over her sunglasses, before saying “Bitch, you could use some slutty.”

Ten minutes later the tee is transformed. My thin, boyish shape is actually evident, and Johanna did something to the neckline, widening it, I think, to make it look more feminine. Once she is happy with the top half of me, she puts all of her energy into coercing me into daisy dukes similar to ones she is wearing. Madge must have let her in to the apartment when I was at the lab or something, because Jo pulls two different options for shorts from her seemingly bottomless purse, and she and I are not the same size, made evident by her luscious hippy curves alone. I sigh, and then quickly remember that I’m grateful for Madge and Jo’s assistance here and gesture towards the off white jean shorts with faint patches of fringe and distressing at the seam. Damn these girls and their insistence I shave my legs, past my usual kneecap. She covers me while I change bottoms – this is one of my talents, truly – I am only in my panties for two seconds before the fly and button are covering my junk once again. 

I take an appraising look down at my chest and ass, and am moderately happy with what I see. Jo, however, pushes me to kneel facing away from her and starts undoing my braid. “You look like a polygamist,” she says. “If you have to have your hair out of your face for dancing, lets at least get you bangs or something, god.”

Only minutes later, I stand to look at my reflection in the mirrored fascia of the restroom – Eew, why would there be mirrors here? Perverts. She has tucked my most frizzy and unruly parts of my hair back from my forehead, allowing the gentle waves from the braid to hang long and loose down my back, past my bra line. “I admit, Jo, I do feel better.”

She smiles and nods. “Now let’s go save some fucking dogs and get you kissed while we do.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
I try my damnedest, but as soon as we’re in the gates and heading to the small platform stage, my eyes immediately seek his. Ugh, but the yellow tee is actually adorable on Peeta - he is the only one in the band wearing it, actually – and the sunny color adds to his general bright appearance. He lifts a hand in greeting, smiling with the chin dimples, and turns back to the laptop he and Delly are working on. For the first time, I notice his interaction with her; he is guiding her through some kind of install or reboot, and when she finishes successfully, he smiles widely to her and pats her on the back before turning to check his mandolin. He is the model teacher. You couldn’t help but adore him, I think, flashing back to Thursday and his energy in discussion and involving each shy artist. Maybe he really is this genuine, sweet, ideal kind of person… Its just that nobody in my life before has ever been this authentic. Except for Prim…

A joyous shout accompanied by whistles from the crowd shakes my thoughts and draws my attention east, where what looks like a hundred dogs are headed our way, all leashed, of course. Its immediately a volume my head and heart appreciate – I absolutely love being blared by sound, and these dogs and their humans, volunteers, whatever don’t disappoint. Im not even a pet person, but the excitement of the animals, some only puppies, and the people around them is actually pretty contagious and I find myself smiling right along with everybody. 

I have located what I think might be my favorite dog, a small, tan, scruffy thing wearing a bright blue bandanna with dark eyes that practically sparkle, when the music begins, just Peeta and the strings of his mandolin. His melody accompanies photo after photo of dogs displayed across the linen, and Jo informs me from her pamphlet that these are all the homeless pets placed with families in the last year. What? There is this tight little twinge in my chest, which is weird and not like me at all, and I brush it off as nerves at seeing Peeta again and maybe in the small chance that something will go wrong today. 

Because Katniss Everdeen doesn’t feel emotions towards dogs. Nope.

Madge, wearing her now trademark boots, smiles and steps closer to the mic.

“If we were children, I would bake you a mud pie  
Warm and brown beneath the sun.  
Never learned to climb a tree, but I would try  
Just to show you what I’d done.  
Oh, what I wouldn’t do  
If I had you, babe, I had you.  
Oh, what I wouldn’t do  
If I had you, babe.”

The song swells now and Madge leads the crowd in quick little rhythmic claps to complement Gill’s light drumming. Soon she is singing again and dog pics are flashing, and if I look in their eyes just right, I can almost see a little bit of… maybe human-ness? 

Bleh! I shake my head and fixate on Peeta again instead. He leans into Madge to share the vocals now.

“If I were old, my dearest, you would be older  
But I would crawl upon your lap  
Wrap a blanket ‘round our frail little shoulders  
And I’d die happily like that.”

With the audience still maintaining the quick, staccato claps, Peeta and Madge start in on a whistle of the melody, and all this time, his fingers have never lost pace across the strings. He’s just… going, still. Singing, whistling, strumming, smiling, just all around performance perfection, really.

What does he ever see in me?

Once the band is finished and everyone has appropriately cheered and the dogs are nice and rowdy, we are instructed to head to our assigned posts to pick up our pups for the mile and a half walk. Jo links arms with me and we head to the banner reading “Malibu Mutts” where the order of the day is sunglasses, swimsuits, surfboards, and beach umbrellas. And yes, some dogs are in costume. “Uh hah!” I let slip before catching myself and Johanna fixes me with a look. “Okay, yes, its kind of adorable, alright? God.”   
She just rolls her eyes. I don’t tell her that what’s really killing me is this fat little beagle in sunglasses, coconut bra, and grass skirt. Totally just dibs-ed that one…

Johanna leashes up with some big drooley beast, and to my chagrin, I do not get the grass skirt beagle – Trust me, I’m not above fighting idiots for the hound I prefer, but this boy about ten years old with a lisp kept hugging her and calling her “sthugar” – Sugar? Dammit, my heart is pretty vulnerable and tender today… 

If I’m not careful… 

I’m going to say something stupid – and girly – 

And just absolutely ruin any chance of credibility I have as a decent possible girlfriend – WHOA! Pump the brakes! NOT a girlfriend, nope.

Because that would imply a BOYfriend – 

And Peeta is too busy, and perfect, and lovely, and charming…

“Shut up, brain!”

Okay, oh my lord, truthfully, I meant to say that in my head and now Jo (and every Malibu Mutt) is staring at me. I slip my sunglasses onto the bridge of my nose and shrug, trying unsuccessfully to be cool, and roll my neck against my raised right shoulder. I am about two seconds away from sending Madge an SOS/Smoke Signal “HELP ME” text when I hear Peeta laugh gently with the elderly volunteer woman at the booth. I sigh. 

It’s a mile and a half. With dogs. Just focus on the dogs…

He finds Jo and I, holding the leashes of three dogs, one of whom is barely a puppy or either totally excited and probably going to pee everywhere on everything. He looks right at me and I’m lost – it’s a good thing I have the safety of my dark tinted sunglasses because I didn’t hear a word he just said. I shake my head and tilt slightly closer to him.

“I said, thanks for agreeing to this, Katniss. I admit I’m a little surprised you care about animals,” Peeta says. He smiles and gestures to the leashes in his hands, and I tentatively reach forward.

“I don’t think I can do the little one,” and a small laugh escapes his lips – he is smiling broadly, bigger than before, so now that smattering of dimples is showing. In my hesitation and distraction, I don’t notice the small yapping puppy jump past me towards Johanna’s massive brute. Peeta reaches to assert his grip on the handle of the leash at about the same time I realize what’s happening, and I stretch my arm out to keep the dogs separated – not that anything could go wrong – the drooling dog is almost asleep from boredom and, I’m certain, just existing as a huge beast. 

Because, really, I bet its exhausting.

The furry little thing escapes from Peeta’s grasp, and I grab the leash in time to keep the dog in place. I just can’t even believe something could be that small and have so much energy, and when I bend my knees to rub its scruffy little head between the ears, with my other hand I gain purchase on the handle. 

Only there’s another hand already holding it.

I twist back around to Peeta, and for a split second, my index and middle fingers are messily entwined in a combination of his hand and the fraying fabric handle of the leash. There is such a… a warmth coming from his hand that I’m tempted to slide my hand all the way in, to be palm to palm. I glance up at his face through the shelter of my glasses – the deep blue of his eyes (I think the color is cerulean…) sparkles as they catch the sun, and he is smiling again. No, laughing. There’s this little chip missing from the corner of one of his front teeth that I didn’t see before now, and because I’m so close, I can almost smell his musk, probably from the music and the sun blaring down. He casually tosses his head to the side to right the blonde locks that got mussed in the puppy fray, and its over – I’m a goner. He squats with his weight on his heels, managing the other two dogs like its no big deal, and leaning close to me, er, to the littlest dog.

He’s leaning to keep a grip on the leash, the leash that I had, but now hand back over to him fully.

“See, I told you the little dog wasn’t good for me,” I tell him, straightening and brushing my now sweaty palms across the front of my shorts. 

Be cool, be cool, be cool…

Peeta’s smile is directed back at me this time when he hands me the shortest leash of all three. “That’s why you get Bubba, this handsome boy.”

At the sound of his name, the wrinkled chubby white bulldog glances up, which must prove exerting for him because he immediately opens his mouth to roll his tongue out and starts panting. Should be an interesting mile and a half…

We walk, and Jo must read the anxiety on my face because she actually takes the lead in conversation, asking Peeta questions about his music. I’m grateful for the chance to wind down from my electric skin to skin moment with him… but once I feel calm, I immediately begin to miss his proximity…

And the heat from his fingers…

‘Why the fuck not?’ I ask myself. 

He has both leashes of his two dogs in his right hand with me walking on his left. I take a deep, deep breath, switch Bubba to my left, and much more confidently than I feel, slip my hand into his. For real this time, not an accident.

He is still explaining something to Jo but looks right at me as he does so, and gives a little answering squeeze to my fingers. I am instantly relaxed. Not only relaxed, but… happy. And excited, and fluttery. 

It is this moment that Gill catches up to us – apparently he has been jogging lightly to do so – and he and Johanna step out of the dog parade to, well, either suck face or talk. Hopefully talk. Way too many kids around right now…

“Hey,” Peeta says to me, swinging our tangled hands to bump the side of my leg.

I loop Bubba’s strap around my wrist and shove my sunglasses up onto my head. I realize I want him to see me, to see me wanting him, in all of his adorable, fuckable perfection. I offer him a small, sideways smile and say ‘hey’ back.

He loosens his hold of my hand, but only for a moment to grasp it a different way. He’s still smiling when he raises our joined hands, and with a flick of his wrist spins me around once while never missing a step. I laugh. “Kind of cheesy, but not bad for a musician,” I say.

And we walk our three dogs to the end of the trail.


End file.
